Hetalia Horror Storybook
by XxYANGIRExX
Summary: A series of oneshots based around obscure ghost stories/urban legends.


**Hetalia Horror, Episode 1! Yep!  
I dunno. It seemed like a good word to use.  
Okay, um.. I don't own Hetalia or the ghost story this is based around. I SWEAR.  
I feel pretty awesome, since I actually managed to stick to writing something for once. If I get good feedback, I'll have motivation to continue and therefore write a second episode,and hopefully get even more good feedback. Okay! That's quite enough of this talking business. Enjoy.**

It was like any other outing with the four of them together. England and France bickered as usual over everything and anything, while America simply tried to push England's buttons and Canada was quiet just like always.

Canada of course realized that this relationship was a tad dysfunctional, but it had never really bothered him much. After all, watching them interact was entertaining enough to make him forget about wishing to be more noticeable.

The four of them had come to this spot (a small cliff overlooking the ocean—America found it) separately. Canada and his brother had come on the louder one's motorcycle, while the other two (bickering the whole way, no doubt) had taken England's car. They stayed together for a few hours—Canada thought it was kind of nice, being able to spend time with them, bantering and all. He couldn't help but consider the three of them his family. Obviously he and America were brothers, but Canada still considered France his papa, and… ah, he never could decide what position England held. Certainly not the mother. In the end he always just decided England was like a second brother to him.

Soon enough, though, it became late, later than the group usually stayed together, and they decided they'd better leave. America whined, saying he wanted to spend more time together and that he'd be bored and lonely, and France quickly agreed (like Canada knew he would, he knew how empty his papa's house had become—he made a note to visit him more often) much to England's displeasure. Ah~  
Canada greatly wanted to speak up, to tell them he agreed with his brother, but—But he really couldn't make himself. This always happened to him; he'd end up having an opinion, but no strength to speak his mind, and then things wouldn't go the way he wanted them to.  
England kept refusing, saying he wanted very much to go back to London and settle down for the night, and that he'd had enough of America and "the bloody Frog".

"G-Guys? Um…guys? Hello?," Canada spoke up, softly—the others didn't hear him over their own voices. The small Canadian gave a big sigh. He glanced at his brother, whom to his surprise, was already looking back at him. Canada gave a small tilt of his head, looking quizzically at the other. Soon, a reassuring 'hero' grin spread across America's face before he turned to the others. "Hey! Artie, Francepants! Shaddup for a minute, I think Canada's got something to say. Right bro?" Another reassuring smile was sent in Canada's direction. The older two nations quickly became quiet, slightly taken aback.

The now visible nation's eyes widened slightly, looking between the three of them. They were all looking at him! Ah, what was it he'd wanted to say? Suddenly being put in the center of attention had made him lose his train of thought. He was quiet for a moment, struggling to remember, before-  
"O-Oh! Um… I wanted to say that I think...I think we should stick together for the night. It's been a while since we've done that…right?" He saw England bite the corner of his lip. He also saw France brush the smaller man's elbow lightly, and he saw England only half-heartedly move away from him. A small smile formed on Canada's face. America might not be aware of it, but he certainly was—France and England seemed to get along much better than either of them let on. He briefly wondered if there was more to it than that, but his brother's loud voice interrupted his thoughts. "You're outnumbered, Artie~"

The Englishman's brow furrowed in irritation. "You little-,"he began, interrupted by France's laughter. "I suppose that settles it, non? Let's get out of here. We've spent long enough arguing and now it's dark out." America let out a small 'whoop' and before England could protest, the group was already moving over to where they'd parked. Canada smiled happily, trailing behind the three of them slightly. They were already beginning to argue again—he'd long ago gotten used to this kind of behavior from them. It was almost comforting, even. The things they argued about were always lightly petty disagreements. France was telling England not to be so ill-tempered for once, England was yelling back at him not to be a prat, America was jumping in to tell England not to get into a crash with his 'weird driving'-

Oh.

Canada slowed a bit, reminded of what it'd been like driving over to this place earlier. He'd clung to America's waist, shivering, unable to say anything to his brother over the loud engine, worrying about larger vehicles.. He bit his lip, now jogging to catch up to the others. The Canadian worried slightly that his brother might be angry with him, but he needed to say this, and he needed to say it _now. _  
He tapped the American's shoulder. "Ah…um… Al? Al, listen.. I want to go back with Arthur and Francis… okay?" The other looked back at him, his azure eyes widened slightly. America cocked an eyebrow at his brother. "Eh? What, don't you like my driving, Matt?" Canada could feel the other two watching interestedly. To be honest, that really wasn't helping him find something to say back to America. It wasn't like he was afraid of his brother, but there were times when he couldn't really help but feel intimidated by him. Those times were usually whenever he had something to say that disagreed with his thoughts and opinions.

He heard England's voice cut in. "Oh leave him alone, Alfred. If he'd rather ride in a safe vehicle then he should do so." America blinked, looking over at the Englishman with a slightly pouty expression on his face. "Safe? But I can drive safely enough.. You're just being a grouch again." A cocky grin replaced his previous look. England began to splutter a bit, before Canada spoke up. "G-Guys! Don't start yelling at each other again, please..," his voice faltered here, but he continued anyway, "Let's just go now." France gave a light laugh, hooking an arm around Canada's. "I agree~ Then again, Mathieu and I could always just go alone and leave the two of you to resolve your, er… 'tensions'." Everyone else present turned incredibly red, and all of a sudden they were hurrying to go their separate ways. Canada sighed a bit. His papa always seemed to have that effect on people.

America swung a leg over his motorcycle, seating himself on it before grabbing his helmet and putting it on. England was already in the driver's seat of his car, starting it up while muttering indignant somethings to himself. France let go of Canada and climbed into the passenger's side and the aforementioned Canadian got in the back, casting another look to his brother before doing so. That's when America seemed to get a bit of a glitter in his eye—He leaned against the handlebars, throwing an expression that seemed to be part grin part smirk at the other three.

"Yeah, this is fine by me. I totally don't need you guys anyway. I bet I'll even beat you guys to my house!" He gave a loud laugh as England sputtered. Canada sighed. America was likely only trying to push England's buttons enough to get him to race him home. The sad part was that, by the look on the older nation's face, he was succeeding. "What was that? ," growled England, "You— We'll see about that!" Canada saw France raise an eyebrow, before looking out at America. "Amerique, you could not possibly beat us on your little bike." Ack—He should have known France would say something like that. He and England bickered a lot, but whenever someone else was involved the two of them usually ganged up against the third person. Canada knew there was no use trying to disagree now. America laughed again, starting up his motorcycle. "See you guys later~!," he called to them, waving, before taking off out onto the road down the side of the cliff that lead back to the city.

England cursed lightly, before shifting out of 'park' and into 'drive' and following his cocky ex-younger brother. France turned in his seat to look at Canada, checking to see if he was buckled most likely, and then faced forward to buckle himself in. The Frenchman looked over to England, his eyebrow raised again. "Arthur, you seem so determined." The other snorted lightly. "I'm not letting that little prat get the better of me."

Canada could hear the two of them beginning to bicker again but he wasn't paying much attention; he was busy trying not to look out the window. He knew there was a guardrail there to prevent drivers from going off the cliff, but it didn't make him feel much better. He would admit that he wasn't as afraid of a wreck now as he had been on his brother's bike, though. Canada did love his brother, but riding with him on his motorcycle was slightly terrifying. He let his mind begin to wander now, not wanting to focus on these worries swirling in his head. He began to think back to how America had spoken up for him. A smile formed over Canada's features. It really wasn't often that his brother did those things for him, but he supposed that sort of made it that much sweeter.

Soon he began to doze off. He hadn't even realized he'd been getting tired. It must have crept up on him while he was lost in his thoughts. His eyes closed and he slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep..

When the blonde awoke, the first thing he noted was how achey his body was. Ah… he must've been sleeping in a bad position… Sitting up, he looked around, to find that he was… in his house?  
He rubbed his eyes blearily, before sensing movement by his side.

He looked up to find France had come to sit next to him. Canada opened his mouth to greet him, ask him why they were at his house, what time it was, _anything_, but words failed him when he saw the haunted look in his papa's eyes. An ominous feeling washed over him.  
"Francis..? Est-ce que tu ca va?"

The older man shook his head, letting his eyes fall downwards. Now that Canada was aware there was something off, he could hear something like sobbing from another room. An alarmed expression crept over Canada's face.

France gave a soft, almost inaudible sigh, before softly beginning to explain.

"Mathieu… last night….. You, Arthur and I made it back to your brother's home before him.. Ah.. we waited and waited for him, but he never got there.."  
The Canadian waited with baited breath and wide eyes for the other to continue… even if he had a horrible, terrible, almost painful feeling he knew where this story was going.  
"….so….so we moved to your house instead… ah,Mathieu, it was almost morning when we did so… But.. we got a call from the police.."  
_Oh. Oh, please let it be better than I think it'll be..  
_"…. They told us that… your brother was speeding, and he hit the guardrail turning.."  
_It isn't, is it?_  
"…and…..ah.. he…" Francis' voice cracked slightly, as his eyes lifted to meet Matthew's.  
He didn't need his papa to finish that sentence.  
He could piece it together, if not from Alfred's absence, or from the faint sound of Arthur grieving in the next room over, or the look on Francis' face, or even the slightly heavy feeling inside his chest, from simply thinking about what happens to motorcyclists in collisions, especially when going over the speed limit.

It didn't seem real. It couldn't be.

His brother….couldn't…. couldn't seriously be….

He began to tremble slightly, even as he felt Francis pull him into his lap. Protective, comforting arms wound around him, but he was numb to them. They couldn't bring Alfred back, could they?

It was a long time before either of them spoke again.

"…Mathieu," began Francis, sounding drained and uncertain. Matt didn't move or respond. He currently never wanted to speak again, a feeling he knew Francis could relate to.

"Mathieu, there's something else." _Something else? _The younger of the two wondered what else there could possibly be. He chanced a look up at Francis, who he found was already looking directly at him. His eyes reflected doubt, fear, a kind of uncertainty a parent finds in the eyes of their child when telling them _there's nothing hiding in the dark. _

"Wha…. What is it…?"

The Frenchman sighed softly.  
"I… did not tell Arthur this," he murmured—Matthew notes his papa's accent thickening a bit, the word "Arthur" being pronounced like there's no "h"- ,"but… soon after the police called, there was a visitor."

Matt simply listened. This time he had no idea how the story would end.

"The visitor—Ah… I could not see his face,but…he said he was Alfred. Of course at first I thought it was some kind of a horrible prank, but… it was so soon. There is no way anyone could have found out so quickly. He went away after a while, thankfully…" Francis trailed off, looking at Matthew meaningfully.  
The Canadian was busy numbly trying to work out what all this could mean. After a short silence, his papa softly elaborated for him.

"I think…. It really _was_ Alfred.. Maybe because he left us so suddenly, he doesn't yet know he is supposed to be gone…?"

"You… you think he's a ghost…..?" If this were reversible, if they could bring Alfred back, if the situation wasn't so horrible, Matthew might have laughed at the irony of it all.

Francis nodded. "It might be dangerous, Mathieu… if he comes again tonight, no matter what he says, please don't open the door for him… I'm worried about him dragging you away to the next world with him…" There was a pained look in his eyes as he said it.  
Matt wondered how he could possibly resist opening the door for his brother. How could he? He… he hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. Sure, Alfred might have been a hoser sometimes, but it didn't mean Matthew loved him or missed him any less. And now Alfred was gone, and he _didn't even get to tell him goodbye.  
_  
After a long silence, the younger of the two simply nodded. He felt the other brush his lips over his hair, before softly murmuring something about going to check on Arthur, and getting up to walk into the other room. Matthew heard Francis open and close the door, along with some muffled words, and that was when he stopped listening.

He had no idea what time he fell asleep, or what time it was when he woke up. All he knew at first was that he still hurt, before fully waking up to remember everything that had happened earlier. The memory of it sunk like a rock from his brain and down into the pit of his stomach, a dull pain settling there. Looking around, he noticed Francis was either still in the guest room with Arthur, or not even in the house anymore. Either way it was fine with Matt… He needed to be alone. The achey blonde sat up, stretching, before getting up to go get some painkillers.

That was when he heard someone knocking on the front door.

He felt his body seize up slightly at the sound, remembering what Francis had told him—

_" Maybe because he left us so suddenly, he doesn't yet know he is supposed to be gone?"_

A voice came from the other side of the door. "Matt! Mattie! Hey, open up!" The voice sounded urgent, and _so much like his brother._ He moved to go to the door, reaching for the handle, before remembering what else he'd been told. The part about Alfred possibly pulling Matthew into the next world with him.  
Something ominous settled inside him, but… he didn't fully believe Alfred would ever do that. He remembered Arthur having told him before that sometimes people change after death, changing for the worse, but Matt's mind couldn't make itself attach that concept to his brother.

The knocking grew louder, as did the voice's pleas for the door to be opened.

The sound was almost unbearable to Matthew.

"A-Al…please..," he almost whispered," please.. you're….you're dead.."

"Mattie, open this door! It's me!" More loud knocking.

_Why wouldn't he just go away?_

Emotions boiled over inside the Canadian as he threw away all thoughts of Francis' warning, gripping the door handle tightly and swinging the door open.

"Y-You're dead, Alfred!"

There was a brief pause that seemed to last so much longer than a few seconds. Through blurry, teared-up vision, Matthew could see his twin staring at him.

Then came a shaky reply.

"You're wrong, Matt," Alfred said. "You're the ones who're dead."

_….What?_

The younger of the two felt himself lose consciousness after that..

Matthew awoke with a start.

The first thing that greeted him was a bright light. The second thing was the tear streaked face of his brother, Alfred.  
He took a sharp breath before looking around. He was….. in the hospital? He could feel his brother hugging him tightly now. "Oh god, Mattie.. You scared me.."

Matt slowly hugged Alfred back, bewilderment getting in the way of his relief at not having lost Al after all. "Alfred..? Wha… what happened?" Gah. His voice sounded hoarse to him.

Alfred reluctantly let go of Matthew, leaning away. The look in his eyes told the Canadian he wouldn't like the explanation.

"W-Well… okay… so after we raced a couple days ago.. I beat you guys home, right? And you never showed up, so I went back to look for you all.." His jaw started shaking ever so slightly. "..and when I found you, Artie's car was _totaled…_ You guys crashed head on with this truck, a-and… and…."

Matthew's eyes were wide. "And _what_?"

"….and… Arthur and Francis didn't make it. You… you got away with some bruises and stuff, but they weren't lucky like that.."

An all too familiar despairing feeling washed over him, but this time it was accompanied by something else he couldn't quite place. It almost made him feel sick.  
Then he thought back to his dreams..

Francis had told him the opposite story..

And told him not to open the door when Alfred asked..

But….. opening the door had woken him up. So…. If he'd listened to his papa….

_He would have been dead for real._

-  
**And so ends the first…episode? Installment? WHATEVER.**

**This is based on a Japanese ghost story. : ) But you already knew that.**

By the way. "**Est-ce que tu ca va?" means "Are you okay?" No, Canada. France isn't okay.**

**How about a little contest? It should be easy enough—The first person to correctly tell me the real reason England was crying gets an e-cookie, and also gets to pick the main characters/pairing for the next part to this. Deal?**


End file.
